End Game
by Mistress Nimue
Summary: As Harry's last battle with the Death Eaters draws to a conclusion, he comes face to face with his old nemesis Severus Snape. Follows on from book 6, SnapeHarry slash.
1. Chapter 1

There was nothing heroic about it, Harry thought, as he tried to keep his hand from shaking. The wand clenched between his fingers trembled violently. His vision was obscured by blood. Not all of it was his. He had a feeling that when it was over, he would be in a lot of pain, assuming of course that he survived the day.

The huge house was like a maze, and he was hopelessly disorientated. He had no idea what had happened to any of his friends. Voldermort was dead. He clung to the thought. No matter what else happened, he had managed that much. Years of hunting had finally come to an end. The magical assault caught him before he even recognised the danger. Pain wracked him. Agony tore through his already battered frame, and he hadn't even seen the source of it. He writhed, unable to focus his mind on any spell that could protect him from this attack.

_So this is it_ he thought.

Through his blurring vision, a figure ran at him. Harry had just enough time to recognise his old potions master before he was knocked to the ground. The boy who lived, or at least outlived Voldermort realised he was going to die. Snape had, as far as he could tell, been trying to kill him since the day they first met. The pain subsided a little, allowing coherent thought to return. Snape was firing off a lethal spell at someone, Harry couldn't see the recipient. A small mercy, he supposed. There wasn't much hope his old nemesis would give him a quick or easy death. Harry remembered his beloved mentor Dumbledore's murder at Snape's hands and wished he had been able to avenge that killing.

He lay still for what seemed like an age, waiting for the pain to start again. He felt Snape collapse against him, his body hot and heavy against Harry's side. This made no sense at all. Harry pulled himself into a sitting position. Lights flashed before his eyes and it took all of his will not to lie down again. It was then he realised how burned and battered the other man was. Torn robes exposed savaged flesh.

"Are you all right?" Snape croaked, raising his head to look at Harry. His voice was raw with pain.

Harry could think of nothing to say. His mouth was dry and he was struggling to make sense of the scene.

"Yeah," he eventually managed.

"Good. Malfoy was the last Death Eater to fall. Aside from myself of course. I won't be long for this world."

He shuddered, and tiny flecks of crimson dotted his pale lips.

"I had not envisaged dying in your arms Potter, unless of course you intend to finish me in person? You have your chance."

Harry wondered briefly if Snape was playing for time, intending to attack him once he had regained his composure. Why was Snape goading him to attack? Was it a trap of some sort? Harry tried to unravel what was happening. He looked at Snape's face, saw pain etched deeply in the older wizard's eyes. Good sense prevailed over years of hatred, and the young man realised there was no pretence – the former head of Slytherin was grievously, if not fatally wounded. As his mind raced through the events of the previous minutes, Harry started to make some sense of what had happened. The peculiar thought struck him that everything stopped hurting when Snape threw him to the ground. Had the man been trying to protect him, rather than kill him?

"What's going on?" Harry asked. "Why did you protect me just now?"

"I doubt you will believe me Potter. I've been protecting you for years to the best of my abilities. I believe this will make me the fourth person to die for your sake."

"You aren't dead yet," Harry said.

Snape smiled at him. It was a peculiar look, impossible for the young wizard to decipher.

"Give me time," he said.

"You killed Dumbledore," Harry said, his voice low. He'd imagined this scene countless times, although usually he would be shouting the words in righteous anger just before destroying Snape utterly. He had no idea where the anger had gone. There had been too much killing for one day. He could not raise his wand to finish the man.

"I have done a number of terrible things in my life, that was perhaps the worst," Snape replied. "Dumbledore was a dying man, I simply hastened his demise. It was his idea. He used his death to assure my place in the Death Eaters. He foresaw that you would need an ally, as you did today."

Another shivering coughing fit took him, and he lost his balance, falling against Harry. It was an instinctive response to catch him, to hold him. Tears stung at Harry's eyes: The aftermath of the fight, the conclusion of so many years' struggle, and now this. Snape became still, his breathing even and slow. Harry could have let him go then, but he didn't. Instead, he dropped his wand, and placed that hand lightly on Snape's arm.

"You must admit, my efforts to win your enmity were considerable," Snape said. "I taught you to hate me."

"Yes," Harry said, his voice muted.

"I won't humiliate myself by seeking your approval Potter, I simply wish you to appreciate that I have gone to some considerable trouble on your behalf."

Harry was lost for words. Years of perception were being dismantled around him, making him realise he had never known anything of Snape or understood his motives. Had the man been trying to help him all along? Dumbledore had always trusted him, perhaps with reason. It all seemed so unlikely, and yet here Snape was, wounded and bleeding, his head resting against Harry's shoulder.

"I didn't know," was all Harry could think of to say.

"Of course you didn't," Snape snapped, his tone reassuringly familiar. "Credit me with some skill boy. You were not supposed to know."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I am almost certainly bleeding to death and the prospect makes me a little sentimental. I would rather depart knowing… knowing…" he stopped, and Harry froze, expecting more dreadful coughs. None came. Snape was still breathing.

"Sir?" Harry enquired, forgetting himself for a moment.

A ragged chuckle escaped Snape's lips.

"Fool that I am Potter, I would rather leave this world with you knowing I acted not from hatred of you, but from… shall we say, a certain degree of affection."

Stunned into silence, Harry could only gape. A deep, soul-rending ache took hold of him.

"I'm waiting for the none-too-witty retort," said Snape. "Kindly don't delay too long. I should hate to miss it."

"You aren't going to die," Harry said. It was strange to find how strongly he wanted to keep Snape alive. There had been too many deaths - he could not bear another one, not even of a man he thought he hated. Snape's bizarre confession had rocked even that certainty. Harry wasn't sure what he felt any more.

"Have you any healing spells or potions at your disposal?" Snape enquired.

"No, but I could get help, or get you out of here, or…"

"You never did think things through properly did you? I doubt I have time for your heroic gesture."

"What can I do?" Harry asked, with mounting desperation. "Tell me what I can do."

"You could stay with me," Snape said. It was the first time Harry had ever heard him say anything without a caustic note in his voice. The words cut him to the core.

"Of course I will," Harry said. He shifted his position so that he could support Snape more easily. The realisation that he must now sit in this grim wreck of a house, waiting for Snape to die made him sniff audibly.

"Potter, are you crying?"

"Yes," he confessed. There wasn't much point denying it.

Snape's fingers alighted on his cheek, the touch gentle as Harry's tears continued to rain down.

"Not for me, surely?"

"Yes, for you, and for me as well I suppose."

"You won Potter. What more do you want?"

Snape tilted his head so that he was staring up into Harry's face. He looked pale and drawn. Dark shadows circled his eyes, and his lips were tight. His eyes glistened, and Harry watched in amazement as a lone tear made its slow journey down Snape's cheek. Without thinking, he leaned closer and kissed the droplet away. He touched his forehead against Snape's, trying to swallow back his own treacherous tears. Too many people had given their lives for him. Snape had given all those years when they might have been on good terms, teaching him to hate when they might even have liked each other. He had played the villain to perfection, becoming friendless and despised just so that he could protect Harry when the last battle came. Harry tried to imagine Snape spending all that time masquerading and all the while knowing he would give his life if needs be. It was a harrowing thought.

"Harry." Snape breathed his name as though it was a caress, and his fingers fell away from the young wizard's cheek.

"No!"

Harry pulled back in time to see Snape's eyelids fluttering closed. He was deathly pale. The ache in Harry's soul tortured him, rising in ever stronger waves until he thought it must burst out of his body. There was nothing he could do. He brushed his lips to Snape's mouth, hoping the dying man felt this desperate gesture of affection. The pain washed through Harry, dark and fiery at once, potent as the shifting oceans. He shook and sobbed with it. His mouth tasted of salt and iron, his blood drummed wildly in his ears. Harry thought his heart must surely break from grief and regret. Power coursed through him, drawn in anguish from the depths of his soul. This was old magic, wild and dangerous. This was the magic his mother had used to protect him. He knew its name, and it terrified him.

His vision blurred by tears, Harry looked down at Snape. The man's chest moved with the faintest hints of breath. There was a suggestion of colour in his cheeks. His eyelids opened, and he gazed up at Harry, an expression of wonder on his face. He no longer looked like a dying man. Harry felt stunned by the force of magic that had passed through him and wondered if Snape understood its source.

"You're not going to die just yet," Harry said.

"Apparently not." Snape flexed his fingers, looking at his own hands as though he could barely recognise them. "Tell me Harry, do you always kiss like that?"

He smiled. Harry had never seen him smile like that before. There was no cruelty in it, no malice, or self importance.

"I don't think I do it all the time," he said. "But maybe I should test that."

He kissed Snape again - just a cautious brushing of lips, until he felt Snape's fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. Their mouths pressed together, opening slowly until their tongues met. Harry clung to him, relishing the warmth and life he had returned to the dark haired wizard. All those years of fighting and resentment, and perhaps all he had ever wanted was to have Snape take him seriously. To have Snape take him. They kissed until Harry was giddy from it. He pulled away, laughing.

"I thought you hated me," he said.

"Quite the reverse I'm afraid," Snape replied.

Harry kissed the tip of Snape's nose.

"I think we should try and stand up."

"So fickle. Tired of holding me already Potter?"

"No, it's just I can think of better places to be right now." He smiled in what he hoped was a slightly suggestive way.

Harry struggled to his feet and offered Snape his hands. The man might be alive, but he was weakened and wobbly. Harry pulled him close.

"I think I'll have to carry you," he said.

"Oh Potter, I detect a lack of forward planning again. You should have brought a broom at the very least."

It was almost like being at school again. Almost. Harry grinned, and lifted Snape gently in his arms.


	2. Chapter 2

Snape woke gradually, aware of cool sheets against his naked skin and the perfume of honeysuckle in the air. He had no idea where he was. There was a taste of something familiar in his mouth. He concentrated. Vervain and self-heal, amongst other things, which certainly meant he had been fed a healing potion of some description. There was, he noted, a dull ache in his back, consistent with recovering from a considerable wound. These various pieces of information encouraged him to believe he was in no immediate danger. Snape opened his eyelids fractionally and peered out through his lashes. The room was sizeable and airy, with sunlight pouring in from several windows. On the floor was a makeshift bed, from which the covers were pushed aside even as he watched.

It took every ounce of will Snape could muster to continue the illusion of sleep. Before him, Harry Potter rose naked from the floor, sunlight caressing his body. Snape could barely breathe. The boy who lived was exquisite beyond anything he had dared to imagine. The last few years had taken the last gawkish awkwardness from the youth, and his figure was blessed with lean, enticing muscles. Clearly unaware that he was being watched, Harry ran his fingers through his hair and stretched. Then he glanced towards the bed, ascertaining that Snape still slept. The young wizard grabbed a large cloth and tied it about his waist, then began rolling up the blankets of his improvised bed.

Snape rolled over in the bed, realising this must be the place Harry normally slept. It was a curious intimacy, and he wished that instead of these pristine sheets, he had been allowed to lie in fabric that smelled of his beloved boy. Clearing his throat, he tried to make it obvious that he had woken.

"Hello," Harry said, returning to his field of vision.

Snape attempted to speak, but found his tongue thick and unresponsive. Harry grinned and offered him a glass of water.

"You passed out on the way back here," Harry said, by way of explanation.

Snape wondered if the lad had stripped him and put him to bed. He wished he could remember. Harry was looking at him, his expression searching and wary.

"How do you feel?"

"I've been better," Snape replied. "A rather crude vervain healing potion by the taste of it, but you never were very good at potions, I should hardly expect better."

"Actually, it's one of yours," Harry said.

Snape stared at him. "No it isn't," he said levelly.

Harry smirked. "Hermione made it."

"That would explain a good deal. Adequate, but uninspired."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, you're probably well enough to be up and about, so there's nothing to stop you going home and making your own bloody potions if you want," he said irritably.

Snape's heart sank. His returning memories of kisses and tender embraces were perhaps nothing more than fever dreams, or the product of a mad day, never to be repeated.

"If you want me to go, I won't further trouble you with my presence," he said, his voice intentionally terse.

Harry gazed at him, those large, innocent eyes difficult to read. They had been fighting for so long, how could they now do differently?

"I thought so."

"What did you think, Potter? I am in no condition to try and read your mind."

"Yesterday. You were just manipulating me so that I wouldn't leave you to die. I should have known."

If the words had been offered in anger, Snape might have apparated away without further comment. The boy sounded aggrieved by the idea, his face a picture of wounded sorrow. He was close enough that Snape managed to reach out and take his hand, raising it to his lips.

"Oh!"

Harry's exclamation sounded both sensual and vulnerable to Snape's ears. Keeping Harry's hand in his, Snape pulled the boy closer. He ran his fingers over Harry's firm stomach, and the young wizard trembled to his touch.

"I have lied to you many times Potter. I have manipulated you so well that you acted as I intended, oblivious to my influence upon you."

He covered Harry's hip with his hand and placed a lingering kiss just beneath his belly button.

"Having spent the best part of a decade in that charade, I am utterly sick of it."

His fingers strayed along the edge of Harry's simple attire. It would be so easy to loose the knot, but Snape suppressed the urge.

"I spoke nothing but the truth yesterday," he concluded.

He looked up then to find Harry biting his lower lip, his eyes closed, dark lashes beautiful against his pale cheeks. He had always been so responsive, both to kindness and to cruelty. Snape had seen how deeply the boy responded to those who showed him affection. He was equally determined in his reactions to Snape's verbal brutalities. Snape had used this capacity for years, nurturing hatred. Each time he saw a flash of resentment or loathing in Harry's face, Snape had felt as though a part of him was dying. There was a very bitter sort of pleasure to be had in seeing just how much pain he could cause them both. All he wanted to do was tap the rich vein of affection in Harry's nature, but for years that had been impossible. Before, he could only serve Harry by appearing to loathe him, but those days were gone.

Harry sat down on the bed, and his fingers tightened around Snape's.

"Yesterday I was ready to die for you Potter. I very nearly did. I wish you had the good sense to appreciate what that means."

"Forgive me Snape, but I find it hard to trust anything you say."

"Then judge me by my actions."

He kissed Harry's shoulder, his lips following the young man's collarbone to his neck, then up amongst the tousled hair, over ear and cheek until at last Harry's mouth was beneath his. For a second the boy was still, then his lips parted, and Snape licked tentatively at him. Harry's arms circled his shoulders, his kisses growing eager and certain until they were devouring each other with a passion. With one hand, Snape pushed the covers from the bed. Then he set to work on the knot at Harry's waist. Harry sighed as the cloth fell from his hips. Snape lay down, drawing Harry with him so that they were pressed together from lips to toes. Snape ran his finger's down Harry's back, over the mouth-watering curve of his bottom, and up again.

"Have I convinced you of my sincerity?" Snape asked, raising his hips slightly.

Harry took his weight on his arms and looked down into Snape's face.

"You're persuading me," he said.

His face was flushed and his eyes bright. Snape recognised these signs of passion at once, and could not help but smile in delight.

"You never used to smile like that," Harry said.

"I've never had the pleasure of holding you like this before," Snape replied.

"This is weird," Harry said.

Snape laughed aloud.

"I never thought I'd end up kissing you," the lad said, bestowing a brief kiss on Snape's forehead. "Or wanting to…"

"Wanting to do what, precisely Potter?"

Harry blushed. Snape allowed his fingers to glide down the boy's back again. Harry whimpered.

"Come, come Potter, what was it you wanted to do?"

Rather than offer a spoken answer, Harry kissed Snape with wild abandon, his tongue plunging deeply into the older man's mouth. He pressed his hips into Snape's, his desire unmistakable. Snape ran his fingers over the young wizard's body, wanting to touch and know every part of him, to have this beautiful youth gasping with pleasure.

A loud knocking on the door made Harry start.

"Hey Harry, are we leaving today or what?"

Snape recognised the voice beyond the door. Ron Weasley. He supposed he should have realised Harry's closest friend would be nearby. The two were seldom far apart. Harry swore.

"I probably ought to get us moving," he said.

"Going?" Snape enquired.

"It's all right," Harry said, "you can stay put. You won't even know we're moving, promise."

Snape pulled him close again, tasting Harry's lips one final time before he let him go.

"Your clothes were totally ruined and I'm no good at all that domestic stuff," Harry said. "So, you can stay in bed until I get back, or you can come out as you are, although it's cold out there. Otherwise, you can borrow something of mine."

Sitting in the bed, Snape watched as Harry pulled on a few rather non-descript garments and headed for the door. The boy reached for the handle, paused, glanced back over his shoulder and pouted a little kiss in Snape's direction. Then, with a gush of cold air, he was gone. Snape remained still for a while, gathering his thoughts. He could detect no obvious signs of motion and wondered where exactly he was. The easiest way to find out, would be to dress and venture beyond the door.

Investigating the wardrobe, he found an extensive selection of rather non-descript clothing in an assortment of dark colours. Harry was still slightly shorter than he, but there wasn't a great deal in it. He selected a pair of dark trousers. They fitted snugly across his hips and were sufficiently long not to look ridiculous. Then he tried what he suspected was a muggle item – light fabric with short sleeves. Its one redeeming quality was its perfect blackness. Snape had never been one for colour. If the draught from the door had been remotely indicative of the temperature beyond, further layers would be required. Delving further into the wardrobe, he found several jumpers. Serviceable, but hardly to his tastes. He wondered why the young wizard hadn't invested in something a little more suited to his calling. That, he supposed, could perhaps be explained by the lad's ridiculous upbringing at the hands of singularly banal muggles. Snape was about to abandon all hopes of finding a decent cloak, when his fingers closed around a rather promising fabric. Just the feel of its velvety texture enticed him. He pulled the item out. It was the last thing he had expected to see. The jacket was long and straight, adorned with a large number of silver buttons. It wasn't precisely the sort of thing he wore, but close enough to surprise him. What was Potter doing with something like this in his wardrobe? It appeared never to have been worn, and still had a new, unused smell to it. It proved to be quite a good fit.

There was a cloak, right at the back. It was dark green, which was tolerable. His boots had somehow survived the carnage of the previous day, but were scuffed and battered. It was only when he reached for his wand to clean them up, that Snape realised the all important item was no longer about his person. He had no recollection of having seen it. Without it, there was relatively little he could do. The thought was far from comforting.

The door out of the room opened onto a swaying platform that almost threw him off balance. Wind lashed his hair across his face. He caught himself quickly, and slammed the door shut. The platform included a seat, from which Harry was smiling up at him. There was something rather like a horse between the shafts, and it appeared to be pulling them along a bumpy forest road. Despite the wind, the air felt close and prickly. There was light, but Snape could see no sign of the sun, nor could he get any sense of the direction they were moving in.

"Have a seat," Harry suggested.

In front of them, a gaudy, painted wagon rumbled along the road.

"Where are we?" Snape asked, climbing into the seat beside Harry. He felt the warmth of the boy's body at once.

"It's a short cut, but you have to stay in the wagons, it isn't safe otherwise. Going off the track at all would be messy."

"Ah," Snape said. He had a nasty idea he knew where they might be and how this youthful band had managed to surprise Voldermort's stronghold.

"I wondered if you might find that," Harry said, looking Snape up and down.

"While I was wondering what such an elegant item was doing alongside your usual scruffy attire," Snape replied.

"I thought I might need something formal some time."

"A curious choice nonetheless."

"Ron said it made me look like you, which apparently is 'bloody off putting'," Harry said.

The road they followed was narrow, granting a degree of privacy. Snape arranged his borrowed cloak so that it covered them both.

"Look," Harry said. "None of the others know you're here. They know I carried someone out last night, but they don't know who. I get the impression they think you were a prisoner or something."

"Whereas my actual identitywill cause issue?"

"You can bet on that."

"Would it be preferable if I stayed out of sight?" Snape asked. "I would rather not find myself bludgeoned to death by one of the Weasleys, if that's all the same to you."

"I wouldn't let them," Harry said.

"How touching."

Snape found he couldn't help himself. Ten years of needling was a hard habit to break.

"Yeah," Harry said, looking him straight in the eye. "If anyone kills you, it's going to be me."

There were very few measures of time in this place. The light did not change, but remained a constant golden glow permeating the leaves above. The trees themselves contained some variety, but not enough to give any sense of passing time or distance travelled. There were no birds and, when the wind finally dropped, everything fell deathly still. It was frustrating indeed, being so close to the boy, but being able to do so little. Snape circled Harry's waist with his arm, pulling the slender youth closer to him.

"I nearly forgot this," Harry said, reaching for something under his clothes. He placed Snape's wand in his hand.

"That's very trusting of you Potter. Aren't you concerned I might take unfair advantage of your generosity?"

"Not in the slightest. Anyway, you were the one who woke up in a strange bed, with no clothes. If anyone ought to be worrying about being taken unfair advantage of, that's you Snape."

"Tell me, did you take advantage of my prone condition?"

Snape could see a slight flush creeping over Harry's cheeks.

"Only a little bit," he said.

"Do please elaborate."

"Well, it probably wasn't totally necessary to strip you."

"Is that all you did?" Snape employed the tone of voice he had spent years using on recalcitrant students.

"Well, I couldn't help but look," Harry confessed.

"I see."

Snape leaned across so that his lips were close to Harry's ear.

"Did you touch me?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry said, blushing fiercely.


	3. Chapter 3

I've had to take out some of the content, to keep this within the fanfiction rating scheme. I have kept all the diologue, so you'll just have to imagine what's actually going on in some places. I hope it still works.

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By the time they cleared the silent wood and stopped for the night, Snape was both horny and anxious. He retreated inside, leaving the boy to play with his friends. That world he would never be part of. Harry might forgive and believe, others would not. He would be shunned and hunted the rest of his life for his actions. How could he ask Harry to partake of that life, to willingly exile himself just at the moment when he should be returning triumphant? How could he inflict such a lonely future upon the boy? Snape thought he should leave quietly, but as he sat alone on the edge of Harry's bed, he could not quite force himself to depart.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?"

Harry's voice disrupted his thoughts.

"I happen to be quite fond of darkness," Snape replied.

"I'd rather see what I'm doing if you don't mind."

Harry clicked his fingers and brought up the lights. The boy seemed tense and nervous. Snape wondered if something awkward had been said.

"I brought you some food," Harry said, passing Snape a package. "Sorry it took so long, but there's a lot to sort out. I don't know what we're going to do next. I hadn't really planned this far ahead."

Snape picked at his food, not even bothering to see what it was.

"Some of them have got homes and families to go back to, but I don't. I'm not sure what I'm going to do."

Snape stood, taking Harry in his arms and cradling the youth's head against his shoulder.

"Don't think about it now," he said. "Permit me to distract you. I've been aching to distract you all day."

When they kissed, it was easy to forget about everything else, the uncertain future and the painful past alike.

"Snape…" Harry said, a slight quaver in his voice. "I don't… I don't know…"

Snape pulled back, his hands on Harry's shoulders.

"Do try and talk coherently," he said. "Things will be far easier if I have some idea of what you are talking about."

He watched Harry's face, those large eyes, that tender, kissable mouth, the fading scar on his brow. Realisation dawned on him. Harry might well be quite as innocent as he looked. He ran a finger down Harry's cheek, then brushed his thumb over the boy's lips. Harry responded with a kiss to Snape's hand that set him on fire. The boy may well be eager and responsive, but he might not be sure of himself.

"Potter, have you had any lovers?" Snape asked, deciding it was probably best to be forthright.

"No," Harry said, looking down. "I've kissed people and stuff like that, but there was never time, and I was always afraid if I let myself love anyone, I'd just be putting them in danger." Harry looked up then. "I won't be any good, I don't know what to do, and… well… I know what you're like. I don't want to be graded on my lack of sexual prowess, all right?"

There was anger in his voice, but Snape guessed how threatened the lad must feel.

"I won't mock you for your innocence," Snape said. "Despite your experience to the contrary, I can be a good teacher. Would you consent to let me teach you?"

"You aren't cross?" Harry asked.

"I would be honoured to initiate you into the arts of carnal pleasure," Snape replied. "Fortunately, it has very little in common with potion making, although patience is advantageous in both."

Harry snarled in mock aggression.

"I don't believe I've ever seen you so ken to learn anything Potter," he persisted. "And there's such a vast array of things to learn, I find I hardly know where to begin." He paused and regarded Harry for a while, his expression solemn and thoughtful.

"I got the impression this sort of thing works better if you aren't fully dressed," Harry said, smiling nervously. Snape brushed his hands over the long rows of buttons.

"True enough. Would you like to take care of that yourself, or would you like my assistance?"

Harry pulled off his clothing with considerable speed, his gaze returning repeatedly to Snape's face. Snape followed the boy's lead, aware that his hands were trembling slightly, and that he was struggling with his innumerable buttons.

"Let me do that."

Then Harry's hands were on him, unfastening the long jacket and pushing it from his shoulders.

"I thought you were supposed to be the calm experienced one," the young wizard remarked as Snape removed his other borrowed garments.

"So did I," Snape replied. "But I'm not so jaded that the moment does not affect me."

He pulled Harry to him, and the feel of the boy's skin against his own sent his senses reeling. Harry's hair smelled of wood smoke and autumn.

"If at any time you are uncertain, or have questions, then speak to me," Snape said. "If at any time I make a mistake, unlikely though that may be, then tell me. Some things may seem strange at first."

"I'm ready," Harry said. Looking down, Snape saw the boy's eyes were filled with trust.

"You aren't nearly ready," Snape informed him. "You aren't remotely close to ready. Once your body is on fire, aching with need, trembling with lust, then Potter, then you will be ready."

Snape could see that his brief speech had made considerable impact. Harry's cheeks flushed beautifully and his eyes gleamed. They lay down together, the sheets cool beneath them. Snape wanted to hold each moment clearly in his thoughts, to capture memories perfect enough to last for all time. He moved slowly, using just his fingertips at first, tracing exploratory lines over Harry's forehead and cheek, down across his shoulders. Leaning closer, he whispered kisses across the boy's smooth chest. Harry touched him in return, fingers on his arm, his shoulder. Snape felt his control shatter as heat coursed through him. His kisses seared with urgency, with a terrible need to consume the youth he had adored for so long. Harry responded with small, endearing sounds, his hands reaching for Snape, clinging, releasing, then grasping for him again.

Breathing heavily and giddy with desire, Snape paused in his passionate assault to regard the boy. Harry smiled up at him, then reached for Snape, pulling him down into a long, fevered kiss. The older man could resist no longer. His hand strayed down over Harry's stomach.

"Oh!" Harry's breathy exclamation was a prize in itself.

Snape moved his hand slowly, feeling the youth in his arms shudder with desire.

"Feels good," Harry gasped.

"This is only the beginning," Snape told him. "Now we commence the second lesson."

He shifted across the bed, letting his lips follow the path his fingers had found. When he looked up, the expression on the young man's face was a truly magical concoction – surprise, pleasure, anxiety, perhaps more. Snape repeated the action, relishing the gasped intake of breath, the widening eyes.

"It is generally the case that where the fingers are effective, the tongue is doubly so. Fingers have the advantage of length, useful in some instances, but your tongue creates far greater erotic possibilities, being more dextrous, more intimate."

"Don't stop," Harry begged.

"I haven't finished with you yet Potter. Patience. The next lesson. A pleasure drawn out is a pleasure heightened. It is all too easy to succumb at once, but the longer you can wait, the better the results. You may be frustrated now, but it is a small price to pay, I promise you."

"I don't know how much more of this I can take," Harry confessed. "You're driving me mad."

"Of course I am. That was precisely my intent. Believe me, you can and will take a good deal more of this."

Harry sat up, folding himself around Snape, gripping the older man tightly.

"Please!" he begged.

Snape laughed, teasing Harry with his fingers, then covering the boy's face with kisses.

"Lie back," he commanded. Harry complied. "Haste has little to recommend it. Anyone can manage a swift favour. It requires neither skill nor does it inspire much passion. Delayed gratification is another matter entirely."

With that he began once more his erotic torments. Harry bucked and moaned, and begged from time to time, only to be chastised for his impatience. Patience was something Snape possessed in abundance. He had waited years for such a moment as this, and was determined to prolong his enjoyment of it. Harry was his, at least for now, and would be ruled utterly by him. Each subtle move, each tremble and whimper told Snape of the effect he was having, and he revelled in it.

For a long time afterwards, they lay together, still and close. Eventually, Harry broke the silence.

"Kiss me?"

Snape hurried to respond, holding the boy close and kissing him deeply. He imagined drifting into sleep with the youth cradled against his chest. To be so close, even for just a few hours, was a wonder indeed.

Harry shifted in the bed, rolling Snape onto his back and covering his face with ardent kisses. Slowly, he worked his way down. Snape lay still, hardly daring to breathe. Harry kissed his stomach, then looked up.

"Promise no grading me?"

"I promise," Snape replied, bemused.

"Only I've never done this before."

"So, am I getting it right?" Harry paused to ask.

"Even down to the fine art of torturing me, it would appear," Snape said through gritted teeth.

"I can stop if you want," Harry said innocently.

Snape closed his eyes, unable to gather his wits sufficiently for a good retort.

"Should I stop?" Harry emphasised the point with a lick of his tongue.

"Only if you find yourself disinclined to continue."

"That wasn't what I asked."

Harry left the question hanging, and returned to what he'd been doing.

"Because I wouldn't want to keep going if you didn't like it," the boy persisted.

"What do I…?" Snape began, and then realisation dawned. The boy was going to make him beg.

"Please don't stop," he said. The words did not come easily, but need proved stronger than pride.

"Are you sure?"

"More sure than I have ever been."

Snape murmured words of encouragement and desire, realising the boy would not let him off lightly, and no longer caring if he had to sacrifice a little dignity in the process.

"You can tell me if I'm not getting it right," Harry said.

"For pity's sake Potter, stop asking questions!"

"I thought you were going to teach me."

"I'm beginning to think I may have taught you rather too well already."

"What was it you were saying before, about delayed gratification?"

Snape sighed.

"Harry Potter, what am I going to do with you?"

Raw emotion coursed in his body, a blend of wild ecstasy and aching sorrow. Never before had he loved the boy so fiercely as he did at this moment. He had never dared imagine Harry might prove so generous, nor so gifted. Harry's lips and tongue matched his need perfectly, breaking through what few battered defences still remained.

"You don't have to…" Snape began, afraid that he boy would give too much of himself. Harry lifted his head. His expressive eyes were fearless as ever, ready for any challenge. Snape could hardly bear to look at him, heat seared his chest, a heavy, painful emotion, too strong, too sweet. There was no doubting that the youth knew what he was doing and had no intention of stopping. Snape felt himself trembling as he gazed at Harry. He fought to resist the inevitable, held off for a few breaths. The sight of Harry so intent on bringing him pleasure robbed him of all control. The tightly coiled force of long frustration unravelled within him, escaping in a stream of heat. He cried out, a single, inarticulate expression of release. In moments, Harry was in his arms, holding him tightly, pressing his face into Snape's shoulder. Neither spoke. No words could do justice to the moment.

Later, Snape watched the youth sleeping. He looked so innocent in repose, so enchanting, with his tousled hair fanned out across the pillow, and his dark lashes dramatic against his pale skin. Snape wanted to hold him, but feared waking him. Resting his weight on his arms, he leaned his head a little closer, and brushed his lips against Harry's cheek.

When Harry work, the warm glow of satisfaction still permeated his body. He lay still for a while, remembering, and feeling fresh tingles of desire starting to enliven him. He rolled over, reaching out for Snape, meaning to wake him with kisses. The bed beside him was empty. Harry opened his eyes, look around, expecting to see Snape watching him from a chair, but there was no sign of the man. On the pillow beside him was a scroll. His heart heavy with trepidation, Harry unrolled the document.

_My beloved Harry,_

_It might be better for you to think the worst of me. Others certainly will. You have a rare and generous spirit, but the world will not seek to understand and forgive as you have done. I will be a hunted man for as long as I live, and if I am caught, I will die for my crimes. You know it must be so. I have given most of my life in assisting you Harry. I can do no less now. I will not condemn you to the life of an exile and felon. You should return in triumph, happy in your victory. There is no place for me in your future. _

_I cannot regret our time together. I hope you will forgive my leaving, and understand that I mean the best for you, as I have always done. I hope that in the years to come, you will remember me fondly. Embrace life Harry, love and be loved. You have given me a few hours of happiness that will remain with me through all my days. I may have promised not to grade you, but were I to do so, be assured your efforts would be worthy of an A. _

_I remain yours, until my dying breath._

_Severus._

Harry read the letter twice before the full meaning sank in. He ran to the door, careless of his nudity. There was no sign of anyone. Snape had truly gone. Then he sat on the bed and read the letter for a third time. In some ways Snape was right, Harry knew. Without Dumbledore's influence to protect him, he stood no chance of defending himself. Even Harry's word would probably account for little. He touched the bed where Snape had lain, feeling the cold sheet beneath his hands. Then on the pillow, he saw a single long dark hair. Harry gathered it up, stashing it in one of his many small pots. It was all he had left. The young wizard buried his face in the pillows and sobbed.


	4. Chapter 4

The wedding party was in full swing as Harry wandered out into the night. The castle had a sizeable moat, and beyond it lay dense, lonely forests. He undid the top button of his long black coat and breathed in the cold air, glad to be away from the crowds. It wasn't that he begrudged Ron and Hermione their happiness – he had waited a long time to see his best friends married, and had been proud to be Ron's best man. However, he envied them with all his weary heart - their love affair was honoured and celebrated by all who knew them. There could be no such event in his own life, Harry knew.

"It's not healthy you know," Ron had told him that morning. "It's downright creepy. Can't you wear something else?"

"I don't have anything else suitable," Harry said, brushing down the long, close fitting coat with its lines of many buttons.

"I'll find something."

"Try this," Harry suggested, pinning a red rose to one lapel. "Better?"

"Yes," Ron had agreed, grudgingly. "Can't imagine Snape wearing flowers, can you?"

"No," Harry said, turning away so that Ron wouldn't see his face.

He'd bought a second jacket, identical to the one he had given Snape. This was the first time he had worn it. He felt peculiar in the garment, in this private symbol of love lost. Now with the ceremony complete and the party well under way, Harry meandered in his own thoughts, slipping back into the melancholy that had haunted him for weeks.

"Harry! I wondered where you'd gone."

"Oh, hi," he said, looking round to see Hermione approaching. The billowing dress made her look like a fairy.

"Are you all right?" she asked, taking his arm and walking alongside him.

Harry shrugged. He had no desire to lie to her, but equally considered this a poor time for truth.

"You haven't been happy in a long time," she said. "I thought, once Voldermort was dead, things would get better."

"Haven't they?"

"You hardly smile any more," she said. "I'm worried about you."

"There's no need. Really."

"I think there is. You look haunted, you're tired, drawn. I know you aren't eating properly. You look as though you haven't slept well for weeks."

"Probably because I haven't," Harry acknowledged.

"You haven' been right since that last battle, have you?"

"Not really, no."

"It's been strange for all of us," she said.

"I'm thinking about leaving," Harry replied.

Hermione was silent for a while, then she looked up at him and said, "you don't mean a holiday, do you?"

"No."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close. Harry clung to her, welcoming her affection.

"I can't bear to see you so sad," she whispered. "At least tell me what it is?"

"Ok," Harry said. "I haven't told anyone. It's going to freak Ron. I can't tell him myself."

"Can I tell him?"

"After I'm gone, if you must."

"I'm sure he'd rather hear it from you."

"You might not think so when I've told you. You remember I carried someone out of Voldermort's stronghold, and he left after we crossed back through the woods?"

"Yes."

"I fell in love with him."

"Oh Harry!" Hermione kissed his cheek. "But Ron won't have a problem about that, you know he won't."

"He will. The man I rescued was Severus Snape."

"Snape? But…" She stepped back, her hands still on his shoulders as she stared at him, dumbfounded.

"He saved my life, and when he thought he was dying, asked me to stay with him. He told me a lot of things, about himself, about Dumbledore."

"And you believed him? After everything that happened?"

"Eventually yes. He was helping us all along, albeit in some unobvious ways."

"And he left shortly afterwards. Harry, it sounds to me as though he was using you. I can't believe he was ever on our side. Not after what he did."

"Believe me, not a day goes past but I wonder that. I have to know. As you said, I don't sleep well anymore. I don't know how to find him. I have a hair he left on my pillow and a letter in his handwriting, and that's all. It's not enough."

"You and he…" Hermione did not finish the sentence, but Harry could guess.

"We were not lovers, no. But he haunts me."

"You love him?"

"Yes."

Hermione pulled him close again.

"If you're wrong, this is going to be horrible, and if you are right, you'll have to go into hiding if you want to be with him. You've so much to lose Harry, all your friends. Everybody wants you for something."

"I know."

"I can't imagine him being nice to you, much less caring for you."

"I think he could. I don't think we knew him at all, before. But, I don't know where he's gone. I don't know how to find him."

"Finding someone who doesn't want to be sound takes serious magic Harry. It helps that you have something of his, but even so. I know of a witch, but she has a fierce reputation and she will charge you more than money."

"Her name?" Harry asked.

"Katusha."

He kissed Hermione's forehead.

"I owe you one," he said. "You always did know the right answers."

"I hope you find what you want Harry," she said. "We'll always be here for you, Ron and I. You know that, don't you? I can explain things to him. He does know what its like to be in love with someone," she added, then blushed.

"You'd best go back," Harry said. "You know I'm no good at long goodbyes."

"Harry?" She sounded uncertain.

"Yes."

"What did he tell you, about Dumbledore, about what happened all those years ago?"

"It's a long story," Harry began.

Someone called Hermione's name through the darkness.

"Then write it down and send it to me. Please Harry. Then if there's any shred of truth in it, or any evidence, perhaps I'll be able to help you."

"I'll do that," he said. "I promise."

"Hermione?" The voice was closer now, although Harry still couldn't place it.

"Go," she said. "I'll see you again, I know it."

"I truly hope so."


	5. Chapter 5

As Harry trekked through the snow-laden forest, he wondered if he had made a very serious mistake. He wasn't really dressed for the icy conditions, and his feet were numb in their boots. Night was drawing in, and he had seen no sign of human habitation. Life in the wizarding world had become unbearable. For months he could hardly draw breath without some journalist or another pouncing on him. The Ministry for Magic wanted him. A dozen orders wanted him, even though he'd never heard of half of them. Hogwarts wanted him back, and three continental schools had offered him jobs. He couldn't move for people who wanted to shake his hand and tell him about how they had always believed he could do it. He was tired to the core of his being from publicity and the demands of others. Voldermort might be dead, but Harry's life still wasn't his own.

He had sold his fame, in exchange for being sent to Snape. Being without it felt odd, and he still hadn't grown used to that. Just as the fame had been a weight he carried with him, now the absence of it made him feel small. All the things he had done would slip from the public awareness. With time, even his friends might forget what had happened. He could only hope they would not forget him entirely. He missed them.

Somewhere deeper in the forest, a lone wolf howled. Harry shivered at the sound, fearing that a whole chorus of them would start up. He supposed he would have to stop soon, conjure up some kind of shelter for the night, and see what the morning would bring. It was entirely possible that the witch had cheated him, or that Snape was dead. He tried not to think about the latter possibility. Another sound caught his ears – the sound of an axe impacting on wood. Harry guessed that nearby, some simple muggle woodsman was splitting logs for his fire. It would be better to beg shelter and have some company, then be out alone in the presence of wolves, Harry decided. He started walking.

With the loss of daylight, the density of the forest and the snow having eradicated any paths, Harry made slow process. Several times, the sound of the axe ceased, and he feared he would not find its source before the woodcutting was done. At last the sounds became clearer and he could smell wood smoke in the air. A light began to show through the trees, and Harry hurried towards it. On the edge of the clearing he stopped. Years of habitual caution slowed him, and he considered the scene carefully, not wanting to rush into danger unnecessarily.

The cottage was a small stone construction, and warm light poured from the one visible window. Now that he was closer, Harry could smell something appetising cooking. Beside the house, a man was cutting wood. Despite the cold, he had stripped to the waist, and the young wizard could see the ripple of toned muscles each time he moved. His dark hair was gathered in a small ponytail at the nape of his neck, and he wielded the axe with considerable skill. There was no sign of anyone else. Deciding it was probably safe enough to approach, Harry stepped forward and called out.

"Excuse me!" He had no idea what language they might speak round here, but hoped to attract the man's attention without alarming him.

The man turned, the axe thrown from his hands as he reached for something at his waist. Without even thinking, Harry grasped his own wand and readied himself. As the man turned, he saw who had hailed him, and the aggression melted from his posture.

"Harry?"

Harry nodded, finding that his voice would no longer work. He tried to take a step forwards, but somehow his feet wouldn't work either. It wasn't magic, just honest trepidation.

Snape pulled on his coat and jogged lightly across the clearing.

"Harry?" he asked again, as though he couldn't believe it.

"Yes," Harry managed.

"But what are you doing here? Is anything wrong?"

"I wanted to see you."

Snape halted in front of him, his fingers brushing against Harry's cheek.

"You're frozen. It might make more sense to continue this chat beside the fire rather than freezing to death, don't you think?"

Harry nodded, and followed him in. This wasn't quite the greeting he had hoped for. Snape seemed cold, and Harry wondered again if he was making a dreadful mistake.

The interior of the cottage was very neat indeed, but crammed with books and items. There was a stove, for both heat and cooking, and candles flickered in every corner. Snape gestured to the one chair beside the stove, but Harry sat down on the floor. He noticed the look of amusement on Snape's face as the older man took his seat.

"An unexpected pleasure, to have you at my feet Potter." He passed Harry a mug of something hot. It smelled good, and the heat radiated through Harry's body as he sipped the beverage.

"So tell me, what brings you to this isolated spot. You didn't simply happen to be passing, did you?"

"I didn't," Harry said.

"And how on earth did you find me?" Snape's expression darkened considerably as he asked.

"You left a hair on my pillow - that was of considerable assistance," Harry said. "I had some help."

"Am I likely to have other visitors do you think? Should I be on my way?"

"She wasn't interested in where I was going. I shouldn't worry about that."

"You still haven't answered my question Potter, what were you doing skulking about in my forest at this late hour?"

"I was looking for you. What else would I be doing?"

Snape shook his head.

"Foolish, if somewhat heroic. The story of your life, I might suggest." Snape smiled faintly, and shook his head. "And now you have found me, what do you mean to do?"

Harry took a deep breath, then moved so that he was kneeling alongside Snape's chair.

"This," he said.

He caught the back of Snape's head in his hand and pulled him closer, his lips closing over the other man's. Then Snape was kissing him back, hungry and passionate, his hands circling Harry's waist and his breath coming light and fast. Whatever word games the man might play, his body told a different story, one of need and desire. Harry buried his face against Snape's shoulder, then pushed back the jacket so that his cheek was against Snape's bare chest.

"I came because life without you wasn't turning out to be any fun at all," Harry confessed.

"Surely not? And you so famous and so popular."

Harry snorted.

"If you think that's my idea of fun you don't know me at all. I'd rather an hour in your arms than a month of what I left behind."

Snape said nothing, but Harry pressed on all the same, needing to speak his heart regardless of the consequences.

"If you want me, then I will stay with you," Harry said.

He felt Snape's fingers in his hair, then the press of warm lips to his forehead. He was held, so tightly he could hardly breathe.

"You could have had anything in the world after what you did. Anything at all that your heart desired. Power, influence, wealth, luxury. Anything."

"There is only one thing that I want," Harry replied. "I want you."

"Oh you sweet and precious fool," Snape murmured.

He covered Harry's face with kisses. Finding himself a good deal warmer, Harry pulled off his own coat and then reached for Snape again, needing to taste his lips anew, and reassure himself that it was all real. The weariness of travel had gone from his limbs.

"Can I stay?" he asked.

"You may," Snape replied.

Harry pulled himself up so that his face was very close to Snape's.

"As your lover?" he ventured.

Snape lowered his eyelids and breathed out slowly, heavily.

"I suspect that if you were to stay here in any other capacity, I would find it almost as intolerable as you being altogether absent."

"That's a yes, isn't it?"

"Yes."

Harry slipped into the chair, to sit on Snape's lap and be held by him. For the first time that he could remember in all his life, he felt perfectly safe and protected. He could not have said how long they sat together, with Snape's arms encircling his body, and his palm pressed to Snape's chest so that he could feel the older man's heart beating. A beautiful lethargy crept over Harry, brought on by the heat of the fire, and the giddying sensation of being held so tightly and so long. With deft fingers, Snape set to work on the various fastenings securing his clothes, and soon his chest and stomach were exposed to the whispering touch of Snape's fingertips. Harry sighed, melting into these caresses. He knew what must follow, sooner or later, and feared it just as he longed for it. Snape tipped him backwards a little, and kissed his chest.

"Take me to bed," he murmured. "Please!"

"Impatient as ever," Snape returned, his tone affectionate.

"I've waited so long for this," Harry said.

"Perhaps, but not as long, I think, as I have been obliged to wait."

With that, Snape rose from the chair, scooping Harry up in his arms. The sensation of being lifted startled the youth considerably. He had carried Snape himself once, but it seemed a very long time ago, and the man had acquired a few muscles of his own since then. He almost protested that he must be too heavy, but Snape's arms gripped him securely, and as they ascended the stairs, Harry stopped even thinking about resisting. He found he rather liked the feeling of having been overpowered.

The bed was large, and very soft indeed as Harry felt himself lowered into it. He watched, mesmerised as Snape discarded his jacked, baring his body to Harry's scrutiny. The man looked very well indeed, he decided. Then he sat, his fingers gliding over Harry's chest, making his skin tingle and his pulse race.

"Oh," the young wizard sighed.

"Oh?" Snape questioned

. Harry moaned again, and caught his lower lip beneath his teeth.

"Anyone might think that you wanted me to stop."

"Never," Harry responded. "Don't ever stop."

Snape stripped him to the waist, tugging off his clothes and dropping them carelessly alongside the bed. This time when they embraced, their chests pressed close together, skin hot against skin. Harry wriggled against Snape's hip, moving his hands over shoulders, spine, feeling the firm curve of buttocks beneath cloth. He looked up, and dark eyes met his own - eyes that smouldered with passion. One soft kiss teased his lips, followed by harder, all-consuming presses. Harry felt Snape's tongue enter his mouth, filling him with warmth and granting some relief from the hunger that had tormented him for so long.

Harry lay very still, eyes closed as Snape parted him from the rest of his clothes. He craved this exposure, wanting to hold nothing back, to offer the entirety of himself to the man he had longed for.

"Oh Harry," Snape breathed as he pulled away the last of the fabric. "You always were exquisite."

He pressed a kiss into the soft flesh just above Harry's hip bone. He paused then, gazing up at Harry, a wolfish smile twisting his lips. Harry watched, captivated as Snape parted those lips slightly, running the tip of his tongue across them. Harry swallowed, paralysed by the intensity of his desire. Harry found he would have to wait. Snape rose gracefully from the bed and slipped off the rest of his clothing. He stood for a while, looking down at Harry and giving the young wizard every opportunity to observe him.

The last few months had put flesh on Snape's bones, toning his muscles. Harry rose to his knees, needing to touch. Snape's hands were in his hair, trailing over his neck and shoulders so seductively that he could barely think.

"Enough Harry," Snape instructed, his voice hoarse.

"But I want to do so much more," Harry protested.

"So do I," Snape answered him, sitting on the edge of the bed. He kissed Harry deeply.

"You expressed an inclination to be my lover," Snape said. "Is that truly your desire?"

Harry smiled, reeling from what they had already shared, and the joy of finding Snape again.

"I want you," he said. "I've spent months wanting you."

Snape pressed him back onto the bed, kissing him.

"And do you want me here?" Snape asked. "Would you like me to penetrate that tender, innocent body of yours?"

"Please!" He was nervous, but eager, wanting to finally surrender his body and be loved. Snape kissed his cheek, then bit his ear lobe, making him jump.

"From the look on your face, I suspect this is a new experience for you Potter."

Harry nodded and squeaked.

"You like that, don't you Potter?"

"Yes sir," he said without thinking. He didn't regret the words.

"Breath slowly and deeply," Snape said, his voice a soothing caress to Harry's ears. "That's good. Don't fight me Potter, don't resist, simply allow this to happen."

Harry concentrated on watching Snape's face, and on breathing. Snape gazed down at him with such fire in his eyes that Harry thought it might burn him to a crisp. There was a kindred heat in his own body. Harry ran his hands down Snape's back, pulling the man closer to him.

"I'm not made of glass," the youth whispered. "You won't break me."

"Not too painful I hope?"

"It didn't hurt at all," Harry said. He kissed Snape's shoulder.

.Harry had never felt anything like it before. He gasped and shivered, digging his fingers into Snape's skin as he clung to the older man tightly. Snape kissed his face, his neck, his shoulders, then pulled at his lower lip with insistent teeth. Harry remembered the lessons about prolonging pleasure, and knew he could not possibly endure much more of this ecstasy.

"I can't hold it," Harry confessed through gritted teeth.

Snape laughed, and the vibration of it reverberated through Harry.

"Then let go Harry."

This permission was all he needed.

"Enough?" Snape asked. "Or are you desirous of more."

"I want you," he gasped, then kissed Snape's neck.

Snape pushed against him and Harry cried out at once.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No," he said. "No."

Harry knew what was happening, just as he knew the speed of his heart and the urgency of his breathing. Harry pulled Snape close again, wrapping his arms around his lover's body. Peace engulfed him. Harry felt as though he was glowing, warmth permeated his being and a tranquil bliss consumed him. For a long while, they lay still, holding each other. Eventually Snape moved away then touched his cheek - a gesture laden with affection and tenderness. Harry felt as though his heart might burst through his chest.

"I love you," the youth confessed.

"I'm sure in a day or two the novelty will wear off and you'll think better of it."

"I won't," Harry replied. "I've given up everything to find you, followed you to the most obscure corner of the world. What on earth do I have to do to convince you I'm serious?"

Snape closed his eyes, a wry smile on his face.

"It's not that I doubt you Potter, rather I struggle to believe that I could have inspired such adoration."

"Get used to it," Harry said. "It isn't going to stop."

Snape looked at him quizzically, then shook his head.

"Do you love me?" Harry pressed.

"More than I could ever hope to express," Snape told him.

"Couldn't you just say yes for once in your life?"

"No."

Snape pushed him back onto the bed, teasing at his lips with a wicked tongue.

"Just say it," Harry demanded, laughing as he tried to wriggle free. Snape let him go, regarding him earnestly.

"Potter, try my patience too far and I will put you over my knee and paddle that bottom of yours."

Harry's eyes widened as he considered the possibility.

"And that's supposed to make me behave?" he asked.

"I had a suspicion it would not."

With that Snape rose from the bed and headed towards the door. He stopped, and looked back over his shoulder.

"You know I love you," he said, and the words made him blush slightly. "Enough to kill for you, or to die for you. Enough to live the rest of my days without seeing you again if you had chosen to forget me. And enough to spend the rest of my life with you, if you chose to stay."

Harry rose from the bed and found his legs weren't all that steady as he walked across the room. He slipped easily into Snape's embrace.

"This is where I want to be," he said simply.


End file.
